study.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Study, dude.”
“Right. I get it.” I wasn’t stupid. He was doing his girl. I wish I had me a girl. “I can walk home,” I told him.
“No,” he said. “Just wait for me. I’ll call if it’s going to be more than fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“You’re slowing down in your old age. You need a hit of Viagra?” I smirked.
He shook his head. “I mean it, Valentino.”
“Vince.” Stop messing with me, I shot him a glare. I changed my name a lot, but it’d been Vince all month. Not Valentino.
Not Eva. Especially not Eva, the name my mother gave me. I opened the door and got out of the Hummer. “Give my love to Therèsa.”
I pooched my lips. Then held myself like a guy and went, “Hunh.”
Kevin shook his head again, but a smile cricked his lips. “You’re too much.”
“For you to handle. Let me know when you set Therèsa free.”
Kevin gunned the motor and backed up. I headed inside to work.
Jerome, my shift mate, was a cool bro. We’d play gangsta rap and jive each other while we piled pasta onto plates and slathered
marinara over the edge. We’d make lewd jokes about the meatballs and sausage. “A squirt of juice here,” Jerome’d say. “Yes,
ma’am. Meaty balls.” We’d arrange them with anatomical exactness on the plate. Jerome high-fivedme in greeting, then hitched his chin toward the front counter. “We got us some tasty new chik-fil-ay.”
“Yeah?” I swiveled my head. A new girl was training up front with Broomhilda. Right away I knew me and Jerome would be vying
for this girl’s attentions. She was hot.
I strung on my apron and got busy with the dinner rush. A couple of hours later, Broomhilda cranked back to the kitchen to
hassle us. She was a scary bitch. Her real name was Honey Bea, if you can even imagine. The names parents give their kids.
Eva. Honey Bea. When I have a kid, I’m going to name it Jesse or Mel. Something ambiguous. Free-choosing.
Honey Bea was on the eternal rag. She barked orders at us like we were deaf dogs. “Why is that tray of breadsticks out on
the counter?” she woofed. “I told you they’d get hard. Who dropped the parmesan on the floor and didn’t sweep up? We’ll have
rats in here.”
Jerome muttered, “More ’n one?”
I stifled a snort.
“Don’t just stand around. Unload the dishwasher.”
The other girl, the new girl, looked terrorized. Broomhilda said, “Jerome, show Nevaeh where the pasta forks go.”
“I know where I’d like to stick one,” he said.
Broomhilda tore his flesh with eye shrapnel. Jerome yawned and went, “I’m on my break right now, Ms. Honey. It can wait a
few minutes. Anyways, I’m beat. How ‘bout you, Vinnie?”
“Vince,” I corrected him. “Yeah, I’m eviscerated.” Everyone looked at me, like, huh? Kevin and I used to play a lot of Balderdash
with Grams and Gramps. Before the cancer.
Eviscerated. Right. We’d had maybe three customers in the last twenty minutes.
Nevaeh, in particular, had glommed onto me. Shit. She heard my voice. Soon as I could, I was starting testosterone. It’d lower
my voice and turn my fuzz into real facial hair. I couldn’t wait for the day I could afford T.
The front door dinged and Honey Bea stormed out to assist the public. Nevaeh stayed behind, staring at me.
“Heaven spelled backward, right?” I said.
She blinked, but her eyes didn’t warm.
Jerome said, “Wazzat?”
I turned to explain. “Nevaeh’s name. It’s heaven spelled backward. My mom was named that.” She extracted my name from hers.
“Was?” Jerome said. “She dead?”
I hesitated. “Yeah.” To me she was.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He held up a palm to high-five me. I slapped him and he gave my hand a squeeze. Stepping
forward toward Nevaeh, Jerome pressed the same palm to his chest. “I’m Jerome Kahlil Monteh Nathanial Washington the third,”
he said. “You can call me stud nut. This here’s
“Uh-huh.”
“Study, dude.”
“Right. I get it.” I wasn’t stupid. He was doing his girl. I wish I had me a girl. “I can walk home,” I told him.
“No,” he said. “Just wait for me. I’ll call if it’s going to be more than fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“You’re slowing down in your old age. You need a hit of Viagra?” I smirked.
He shook his head. “I mean it, Valentino.”
“Vince.” Stop messing with me, I shot him a glare. I changed my name a lot, but it’d been Vince all month. Not Valentino.
Not Eva. Especially not Eva, the name my mother gave me. I opened the door and got out of the Hummer. “Give my love to Therèsa.”
I pooched my lips. Then held myself like a guy and went, “Hunh.”
Kevin shook his head again, but a smile cricked his lips. “You’re too much.”
“For you to handle. Let me know when you set Therèsa free.”
Kevin gunned the motor and backed up. I headed inside to work.
Jerome, my shift mate, was a cool bro. We’d play gangsta rap and jive each other while we piled pasta onto plates and slathered
marinara over the edge. We’d make lewd jokes about the meatballs and sausage. “A squirt of juice here,” Jerome’d say. “Yes,
ma’am. Meaty balls.” We’d arrange them with anatomical exactness on the plate. Jerome high-fivedme in greeting, then hitched his chin toward the front counter. “We got us some tasty new chik-fil-ay.”
“Yeah?” I swiveled my head. A new girl was training up front with Broomhilda. Right away I knew me and Jerome would be vying
for this girl’s attentions. She was hot.
I strung on my apron and got busy with the dinner rush. A couple of hours later, Broomhilda cranked back to the kitchen to
hassle us. She was a scary bitch. Her real name was Honey Bea, if you can even imagine. The names parents give their kids.
Eva. Honey Bea. When I have a kid, I’m going to name it Jesse or Mel. Something ambiguous. Free-choosing.
Honey Bea was on the eternal rag. She barked orders at us like we were deaf dogs. “Why is that tray of breadsticks out on
the counter?” she woofed. “I told you they’d get hard. Who dropped the parmesan on the floor and didn’t sweep up? We’ll have
rats in here.”
Jerome muttered, “More ’n one?”
I stifled a snort.
“Don’t just stand around. Unload the dishwasher.”
The other girl, the new girl, looked terrorized. Broomhilda said, “Jerome, show Nevaeh where the pasta forks go.”
“I know where I’d like to stick one,” he said.
Broomhilda tore his flesh with eye shrapnel. Jerome yawned and went, “I’m on my break right now, Ms. Honey. It can wait a
few minutes. Anyways, I’m beat. How ‘bout you, Vinnie?”
“Vince,” I corrected him. “Yeah, I’m eviscerated.” Everyone looked at me, like, huh? Kevin and I used to play a lot of Balderdash
with Grams and Gramps. Before the cancer.
Eviscerated. Right. We’d had maybe three customers in the last twenty minutes.
Nevaeh, in particular, had glommed onto me. Shit. She heard my voice. Soon as I could, I was starting testosterone. It’d lower
my voice and turn my fuzz into real facial hair. I couldn’t wait for the day I could afford T.
The front door dinged and Honey Bea stormed out to assist the public. Nevaeh stayed behind, staring at me.
“Heaven spelled backward, right?” I said.
She blinked, but her eyes didn’t warm.
Jerome said, “Wazzat?”
I turned to explain. “Nevaeh’s name. It’s heaven spelled backward. My mom was named that.” She extracted my name from hers.
“Was?” Jerome said. “She dead?”
I hesitated. “Yeah.” To me she was.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” He held up a palm to high-five me. I slapped him and he gave my hand a squeeze. Stepping
forward toward Nevaeh, Jerome pressed the same palm to his chest. “I’m Jerome Kahlil Monteh Nathanial Washington the third,”
he said. “You can call me stud nut. This here’s
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